


Distractions

by DT Maxwell (Draya)



Series: Whiskey & Arcanima [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Aymeric is a leg man, F/M, Lucia and Handeloup just want their boss to take a damned vacation already, Massage, Seduction, Synnove exploits both facts for nefarious purposes, and the boots in this game are hella sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 05:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15478554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draya/pseuds/DT%20Maxwell
Summary: Ser Aymeric has once again put too much work on his plate, much to the consternation of his loyal subordinates. His ladylove has been called in to remedy the situation.(Or, The Bonewicca Soother's Sabatons Are Super Sexy)





	Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published to my tumblr on July 28, 2018.

Aymeric awoke to firm hands ruthlessly massaging his knotted shoulders into submission through the fabric of his shirt. He groaned into his crossed arms, eyes still shut; another too late night in his office that had resulted in him falling asleep at his desk. Thank Halone it had occurred during one of his rare returns home to the manor, and he wasn't being awakened by Lucia or Handeloup, disapproving expressions firmly in place as one or the other delivered a breakfast tray from the Temple Knight mess.

He took a deep breath: minty ozone and the faint, dusty trace of chalk filled his nose. He breathed out again and let himself smile as the familiar hands dug into his muscles.

No, this was someone _much_ better.

"Oh, _now_ you're going to be a layabout." Synnove’s tone was wryly amused, taking any bite out of her words.

"What man or woman in their right mind would wish to interrupt you and your Halone-blessed hands?" His own voice was muffled, as he had yet to raise his head from his crossed arms. He groaned again as Synnove finished working out a particularly stubborn knot; blasphemy or not, Synnove's massages were just _that_ good. "Perhaps I should sleep in my office more often, if it leads to such ministrations."

Her husky laugh sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. "Now, now, Aymeric, these are supposed to be treats, not rewards for poor behavior."

"Mmm, then what brings you to Ishgard?"

"Well," she drawled, digging out the last knot next to his spine, "I received a very irate 'pearl call last night from a very tired First Commander. Lucia is _not_ happy with you, my love, and neither is Handeloup; I believe last night was the first time I've ever heard him descend into impassioned ranting, and he was doing it loud enough to be heard over Lucia at times. Weren't you supposed to be hiring aides to assist with your workload?"

Aymeric slumped, both at the release of tension and in guilt. "...It's a work in progress."

Synnove snorted. She drew her hands away--he did _not_ whine in disappointment, but it was a near thing--and he heard and felt her settle on the desk next to him. "Regardless of the non-existent employment of aides, I was informed of the hours you have been keeping, and then point blank asked to seduce you out of the office." She punctuated her statement by drawing her hand through his hair, from crown to nape, and scratching lightly with her nails. "Now, how could I refuse such a desperate plea?"

Another shiver went down his spine, and if he had been physiologically capable of it, he would have purred like a coeurl. "Well then, dearheart," he said, finally raising his head, "consider me sedu--"

He stuttered to a stop, mouth suddenly as dry as the Sagolii.

Synnove met his eyes, her own green ones glittering, and smirked.

Aymeric dragged his gaze slowly down her body, until he finally reached her legs, crossed at the knee. He had mentioned once, off-handedly and more than a little drunk after sharing a bottle of Bacchus with Synnove on a La Noscean beach, that he adored her long, toned legs and was _particularly_ fond of them when she wore her favorite pair of thighboots. Brilliant tactician and strategist that she was, Synnove frequently exploited that knowledge.

And he had _never_ seen the like of these boots.

Black leather hugged Synnove's thighs, her bronze skin practically glowing against it, the rest some sort of sleek shadowed metal he didn't recognize from her knees to her toes. A small voice in the back of his mind--the military commander in him--wondered how in the Seven Hells she managed to put on those boots, or even walk in them with what seemed to be an actual double-sided _spike_ for the heel. The rest of him was far more interested in how the metal hugged her legs, exaggerating _everything:_ the shape of her calves; the slimness of her ankles; the arch of her foot.

Aymeric lifted his gaze to meet Synnove's again and swallowed heavily. Her smirk widened into a toothy grin.

Except for those extraordinary boots, Synnove wasn't wearing a single stitch of clothing.

"In the interests of honesty, I was _technically_ asked to _distract_ you out of the office," she said in a purring drawl, reaching out to cup his chin in her palm. "However, I thought seduction would be the more entertaining option for us. Wouldn't you agree, darling?"

He swallowed again, shuddering as her fingers gently stroked his neck at the movement, and managed to find his voice again. "Emphatically yes," he said, though it came out a scratchy croak.

"Wonderful." Synnove tilted her head slightly to the side, braid sliding nearly off her shoulder at the movement, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she drank in his appearance. Her lips curled into a smug smile, and her gaze went from satisfied to predatory.

Aymeric was _absolutely_ going to continue to work late, disapproving subordinates be damned, if _this_ was the result.

**Author's Note:**

> In case it's not obvious, I really fucking love the Bonewicca Soother's Sabatons (and its shared models, the Bonewicca Protector's Sabatons and Bonewicca Tracker's Sabatons). If only I could use them for my caster glamour. D:


End file.
